As the Towers Fall
by Layrenn
Summary: Tribute to 9/11. His peaceful sleep was suddenly interupted by a sharp, stabbing pain. His clear blue eyes snapped open; his breathing came out in quick, shallow breaths. Something horrible had just happened.


While bored on a Sunday afternoon, I turned on my TV and began to watch the History channel, because I'm cool like that. Playing on this channel was the documentary _102 minutes that changed America._ After watching the entire thing I instantly needed to write a 9/11 fic, despite it being November.

I know it is very convenient that America is in New York at the time. I couldn't think of a legitimate reason for him to be there, so he just is, because it would be useless to base a fic off of a movie showing real people's experiences in New York at the time and have Alfred in D.C.

This documentary and a handful of timelines and photos were used to research for this fic, I have no recollection of the event because I was sort of five years old at the time. I apologize in advance if this sucks.

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia.

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Alfred's peaceful sleep was suddenly interrupted by a sharp, stabbing pain. His clear blue eyes snapped open; his breaths came out in quick, shallow breaths.

Something horrible had just happened.

Ignoring the pain, he turned his head. Reaching his hand through the blur, he slipped on his glasses and looked at the time. In lighted numbers it read 8:46 a.m. Personally, he would have liked to sleep for another, oh, seven hours or so, but the emergent throbbing was a bit of a problem.

There was also the issue of the obnoxiously bright light streaming through the window, illuminating his room and destroying all hopes of sleep.

Knowing this was a losing battle, Alfred stiffly rose from bed. As he stood, he realized two things. The first, it was the most beautiful, clear morning he had ever seen. Second was that standing was that standing hurt. A lot. Before he could move, another wave of fresh pain caused him to double over with a violent cough. People were dying… What was happening? What caused this?

Standing in his room wasn't going to answer his question. For the moment, the pain had dulled slightly. Quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and his prized bomber jacket over his tank top, he ran out of the room. He wasn't worried about the cold; it was only early autumn, the eleventh of September, if he remembered correctly.

He knew this pain. It was what he felt when disaster hit, in hurricanes or tornados or earthquakes…

…Or when his country had been attacked.

He cringed at the thought.

The feeling of impending doom clouded his thoughts. He was horrified, _what happened, what happened, what happened?_

It was only until he stepped outside that he stopped asking himself that. Now he could smell smoke, hear the people talking, "Look, up there," someone yelled near him.

_Don't look. Don't look. Don't loo—_

As if he wouldn't.

Alfred nearly fell over when he saw it. A building was burning. The northern tower of the World Trade Center was burning. Black smoke filled the sky above it, contradicting with the serene blue.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god. What happened?_

The gossip around him got louder. What were they saying? Something about a plane…And the building.

_A…Plane…A plane crashed into my building…? _

Before he knew it, he was running towards the towers. He didn't know how he would manage to get there, but he would. He needed to help. He needed to save his people. How could someone crash a plane into a building? And into one of the tallest buildings in New York, none the less. It couldn't be an accident. But, what else could it be? No one in their right mind would...

Terrorists.

A terrorist attack. Someone had attacked him. His country. His people. For a moment, he stopped breathing. Why...?

People were whispering his thoughts back to him. "—Can't be an accident"

"—Terrorists?"

_No, no, no. It can't be terrorists. I can't be terrorists. It can't be terror—_

The loud screeching of a jet caused Alfred's stare to shoot back up towards the towers. There was another plane… Another plane… Another plane just crashed into the southern tower. People were screaming. Fire. The entire top of the building was in flames. People were dying. Burning up. Screams. _Help me, Help me, Help me._

It took a second for Alfred to realize what had happened, reality always had a hard time coming through to him, but as he did, he fell to his knees.

The people around him were screaming, crying. Next to him a little girl started sobbing, "Why, mama?" She bawled, "Why are the big towers on fire? What about daddy? Why did they make the towers explode with daddy and his friends inside? I don't want daddy to get hurt, mama!"

How many people were up there? How many people were going to die before they could be rescued? How can the firefighters even rescue the people in the top floors?

It felt as if the world was ending. Fresh gashes and cuts were tearing up his upper body, he could barely breathe, it felt as if he was choking on smoke.

But he still had to help. He _needed _to help.

That simple thought brought him back up to his feet; it got him running towards the towers once more. Other people were running towards the towers too. Actually, more people were running towards the towers than away.

_My people are idiots._

His mind and body went on autopilot as he ran. There were no thoughts, he only ran. When the mob got too thick, he pushed his way through it and then continued to run. He didn't need to think. If he did, the sheer horror of what was happening would be too much for him.

And then his phone rang.

It was a wonder he even heard it.

"Wha-What, who is it?"

"Al! Oh my god, Al! Are you okay?"

It was Matthew. That would explain the Canadian area code, "No, I'm not, Mattie. Terrorists hit the twin towers… I need to help…" Another cough shook his body. He didn't want his brother to hear him like this. Alfred wanted to be the strong big brother he always was. Right now he sounded so weak, so broken.

"Oh, god, you can't be out there. You aren't a normal person; you have to be in horrible condition—"

"I can't just go home or something, I have to help them. They're dying, I have to help them."

"No! I'm not letting you do this. You're in pain, and…and I don't want you to get really hurt, okay? Plea—"

Alfred hadn't been able to hear the rest, because seconds before he had seen a figure falling from the towers. Then another. Then another. His breathing quickened. "Are they…," he whispered to no one in particular, "are they jumping?"

Another small black figure cascaded to the ground.

A scream lodged in his throat. He couldn't look, he couldn't watch. Desperately, he wanted to believe that it was just debris, but it was obvious it wasn't. People were so desperate that they were actually jumping from the towers.

Slowly he bent down and grabbed his phone. Matthew was still on the other end, calling Alfred's name, pleading for an answer.

"Sorry, Mattie. I'm okay, don't worry. I've got to go. I'll call you when everything is under control." He didn't give his brother a chance to respond before hanging up.

After placing the phone in his pocket he looked up to the towers again. The fire was spreading, and the buildings were getting weaker. It was impossible to save the people in the higher floors. Yet, nevertheless, he ran forward.

Firefighters were leading people away. Telling them the obvious, "It wasn't safe." Of course it wasn't. But they wanted to see. There were people with video cameras recording the whole thing.

_Good, _Alfred thought, _the people need to know what happened. _

A fireman or cop was pushing him away along with the rest of the crowd, but he barely noticed. He stood where he was standing but was obviously miles away.

The pain was intensifying. He hadn't thought it could get any worse than it had already been, but obviously it could have. It had.

People were screaming once more. _What now?_ He didn't even need to look, the screams answered it all.

A tower was collapsing.

Alfred looked anyways. The southern tower seemed to collapse into itself, falling straight to the ground it was built on. A massive cloud of dust, smoke and debris was coming towards the civilians fast. People were running, windows and doors were being slammed shut, and people were screaming.

Alfred was running, too. _How the hell are you supposed to out-run an apocalyptic dust cloud, anyways? _

The answer itself was simple. You couldn't. But that wasn't a promising answer, was it?

Having impeccable timing, as always, another flash of pain flooded through Alfred's body. All those people who were alive and trapped in the tower. All the firemen inside. They all just died too.

He collapsed to the ground; this was all just too much. He couldn't take it. The wave of smoke engulfed him and the people around him. He couldn't breathe, he needed water, he needed air.

"Help…me…"

And the world faded to peaceful darkness.

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Please review, constructive criticism appreciated.


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